


A Very Stranger Christmas

by StarMaamMke



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Christmas prompts, F/M, Now s2 compliant, come and get your fluff, so fluffy you will gag probably, updating for 2017, with one darkish prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-10 16:46:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8924626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarMaamMke/pseuds/StarMaamMke
Summary: Responses to a prompt list originally written by @justablobfish Stranger Things with a Christmas theme. Poor, unadulterated, cavity-causing fluff. Originally posted on my tumblr @StarMaamMke. Give me a follow if you like!





	1. Getting the Person Who Doesn’t Like Christmas into the Right Festive Mood/Hot Tea and Comfy Sweaters

**Author's Note:**

> Basically copy/pasted from my tumblr so any mistakes are mine. Happy Holidays!

**Getting the Person Who Doesn’t Llike Christmas into the Right Festive Mood/Hot Tea and Comfy Sweaters**

**Hawkins, Indiana**

**Christmas Eve 1984**

_ But say a prayer to pray for the other ones _

_ At Christmas time, it’s hard, but when you’re having fun _

_ There’s a world outside your window _

_ And it’s a world of dread and fear _

_ Where the only water flowing is the bitter sting of tears _

_ And the Christmas bells that ring there _

_ Are the clanging chimes of doom _

_ Well, tonight, thank God it’s them instead of you _

          “All the money in the world and Bob Geldof can’t afford an issue of National Geographic,” Jim Hopper grumbled as he jammed his forefinger against the preset buttons on the radio. “Absolute shit.” Unfortunately, every country station seemed to be in a similarly festive mood. At least if he closed his eyes and ignored the calendar “Coat of Many Colors” could pass as a non-Christmas song.

          If he closed his eyes, he could hear Joyce’s off-key rendition in the shower from earlier that morning. Sometimes she took for granted, the fact that her bathroom had fantastic acoustics, and that her sweet, untrained voice carried when she sang in the shower. He knew he should have taken her being awake as a sign that he needed to leave and return to his own home to get ready for the day, but he lingered, marveling at how carefree she sounded in that vulnerable moment. As though the events the year prior hadn’t done its dead level best to crush her. It almost made him forget how much he hated the holiday season, stirred something that felt an awful lot like cheer within his shattered soul.

          Jim tried to quell that spark of warmth within him. Whatever was going on between the two of them, and it had been going on – monogamously (a scary word for Jim) – for the past six months, it wasn’t enough to distract from the fact that Christmas was his least favorite time of the year. For obvious reasons.

          It was the second Christmas in a row that he turned down the offer to sit with her and her boys for dinner and festivities. The first time, she had asked out of gratitude and concern. They had marched through Hell together, and she wanted to know that he was okay. The second time, she asked because he reckoned she wanted to test the strength of their new bond. It was just no good to be around him during this time. He had a date with a bottle of Bulleit, and a carton of Camels. He had recently treated himself to a VCR, with the intention of adding a sad viewing of backroom VHS tapes to the ritual. Drinking, chain-smoking, and porn - peace on earth and good will towards men. The second refusal hurt her more than the first – he could tell, even though her only response was a curt shrug and a strange little smile. Jim left the house without getting a goodbye kiss that morning. No promises of meeting up again, either.

          “So it goes,” Jim muttered as Dolly’s song ended and George Jones’s began.

          Jim decided to skip the Department Christmas party as well, that way he could get a jump on his evening plans. He left the station around 8:30.  Night had set in, and it was snowing hard. He said a little prayer to the gods of four wheel drive and set off for his trailer.

          Jim was about a mile from his house, creeping cautiously through the treacherous back roads, when something caught his eye that made his blood run cold and the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

          Joyce little car was stuck firmly in the ditch and tipped slightly to one side. The lights were still on, and the driver’s side door was open. It took everything Jim had not to slam on the brakes and end up in a similar situation. He pulled over as safely and steadily as his shaking hands and limbs would allow, a few yards in front of Joyce’s car, turned on his hazards, and stepped out, shouting her name.

          He skidded a bit as he made his way to her car. There did not seem to be any damage, and the windshield wasn’t shattered. She had most likely hit a patch of ice, attempted to avoid the crash safely, but had gotten pulled into the ditch anything. But she wasn’t inside the car.

          Jim had once gotten hit in the gut by an errant baseball bat. Lonnie Byers -that dumb shit- had let the damn thing slip out of his hands during Little League, and Jim just happened to be the catcher. That feeling of all the breath leaving his body in one tremendous explosion of pain was about the equivalent to what he was experiencing, trudging through the snow and screaming for Joyce to make herself known.

          “Hop?” Joyce’s voice was small and faint, almost drowned out by the wind that tore through the trees. It was coming from far up the road, about a half mile, maybe. Jim scrambled from the ditch. His hands were trembling so violently that it took him several tries, and a lot of swearing, to get the key in the ignition.

          Joyce was trudging up the road clutching a yellow Tupperware dish to her chest. She had made it to less than a quarter mile to his front door, though by the look of her miserable, diminutive, snow-crusted frame, Jim doubted she could have gotten that far. She looked ready to collapse. He jumped out of his vehicle and ran to her side. “Joyce – Jesus fucking Christ- what the hell?” He pulled her tightly against his chest and pressed kisses on the top of her freezing, wet head. She was shaking like the last leaf on a wind-torn tree, and her arms remained tight against the container at her chest. He led her to the passenger side and buckled her in.

          “Joyce, what were you thinking?” Jim asked when he was inside the blazer. He reached into the backseat and pulled a wool blanket from it, arranging it around her still trembling shoulders.

          “T-the b-boy… they went to the Wheelers’ after d-dinner.” Her teeth were chattering as she pulled the blanket tightly against her. Jim cranked the heat, despite the fact that they were close to his home.

          “And?”

          Joyce glared at him. “We had leftovers. I was just going to leave this on your doorstep and leave. I wasn’t going to impose on w-whatever it is you have going on tonight.” Her voice was snappish despite her evident exhaustion.

          The sweetness of the act cut to Jim’s very core. She wasn’t going to force the issue of spending the holidays with him, but she was going to make sure he was fed. He felt utterly unworthy. 

She frowned as they drove on, instead of turning around. “You aren’t going to take me back to my house?”

          Jim shook his head. “You got this far, Joyce. Besides, it will be cheaper and easier to tow your car back to my place instead of yours.” It wouldn’t cost a dime, because of his position in the town, but he wasn’t about to break it to Joyce ‘I’ll Do it Myself’ Byers that she was going to get something for free.

          “I don’t want to impose.”

          Jim parked in the driveway, unbuckled, and leaned over to press his mouth against hers, lifting a hand to cup her cheek. It was a soft kiss; quick, innocent and void of carnal promise. She sighed and smiled as he pulled away.

          “Merry Christmas, Joyce.”

  
  
  


* * *

 

Jim Hopper opened the door to his trailer and waved Joyce inside. In the months since they had become intimate, Joyce had not spent much time at his place. She noticed that it was tidier than the last time she had been allowed inside, drunk and lusty after sharing a few drinks at Hawkins Tap. There were no beer cans littering the freshly vacuumed carpet, the musty, smoky smell was gone, and it looked like he had reupholstered a few pieces of furniture. Joyce reverently wiped her shoes on the new welcome mat.

“Let’s get you out of these clothes,” Jim remarked. He placed a guiding hand on the small of her back and led her down the hall to his bedroom, as she shivered beneath the wool blanket from his blazer. It wasn’t a sexy request. Joyce really needed to get out of her clothes and into something dry and warm. Possibly take an ibuprofen for the soreness in her neck. How could she been so stupid, going out in this weather to bring her taciturn whatever-he-was some leftover ham and sweet potatoes?

Jim took the container she had been clutching and set it on the dresser in his small, sparsely furnished bedroom. She shrugged off the blanket and unzipped her thin, cheap coat. The wool-like material had been inadequate for the weather, and the red dye left blood-like blotches on her beige sweater, which was a shame, because she really, really loved that sweater. She swatted at Jim’s hands when he tried to investigate the stains.

“I’m not bleeding,” she assured him, pulling the sweater over her head, throwing it to the side and doing a slow turn so he could see for himself. Satisfied, he began searching through his closet. She sat down on the edge of the bed, and pulled off her soaked blue jeans, panties and bra. Suddenly self-conscious, she grabbed the duvet from his bed, wrapped herself in it, and waited for him to find what he was looking for.

“I can throw your clothes in the dryer in a bit. Here are some things that you’ll probably drown in, but they’re dry.” He set down a pair of white long johns and a large, faded, red knit sweater with mistletoe pattern and a white letter J.

Joyce’s smile reached her eyes. “Your mom made this.” She lifted her eyes to Jim, and saw that he was blushing deeply. “I remember the year you got this because you invited me over for dinner. My sweater had a Cardinal on it.”

“I’m sure you got rid of it after we broke up, but Mom would have noticed if I ditched one of her sweaters.”

Joyce scoffed. “Shows how much you know. I still have mine and I wear it enough that it doesn’t reek of mothballs. I loved your mom’s work.”

Jim cleared his throat, and Joyce could tell that he was uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking. His mother had been a lovely woman, and had been kind to Joyce, long after she had broken up with Jim. Cancer had taken the woman two years before it took Jim’s daughter. “I’m going to put some wood on the fire and make some tea. You know where the bathroom is you want to dry your hair. I’ll meet you in the living room.” He gave her a quick kiss and left her alone.

Later, after Joyce had dried off and donned the offered clothing, she padded into the living room, almost tripping over the legs of the long johns. Jim was seated on the couch, two steaming mugs of tea waiting on the coffee table. He gave her a weak smile and scooted to one side, placing an arm on the back of the couch. She joined him, hesitantly curling up at his side. His arm moved to drape over her shoulders and he kissed her forehead, his beard tickling against her fair skin.

“If you want, I can disappear into another room and let you do your ‘alone time’ thing,” she whispered. He frowned down at her, perplexed expression darkening his heavy brow. She nodded towards the coffee table, where two very racy VHS cases rested. She heard his sharp intake of breath and smirked.

“That…”

“Shhh,” she pressed a kiss against his cheek. “I know you didn’t want company tonight. Like I said, I can go to your room and let you brood, or drink, or… whatever. It will be like I’m not even here.”

Jim leaned forward and took the handle of one of the mugs, offering it to Joyce. She took it, and reveled in the heat of the ceramic as it laced through her still frozen fingertips and up her arms. “I guess if I didn’t want you here, I would have driven you home.” He took the other mug and sipped. “This is nice, Joyce. Having you here with me on Christmas Eve is nice. I didn’t think I’d ever feel so goddamn pleasant on this day ever again. Thank you for running your car into a ditch tonight.”

Joyce set her mug down and settled against his side once more. She felt sufficiently warmed, and her eyelids were becoming heavy. She wanted make a cheeky remark about the porn on the coffee table, but the moment was perfect as is, and she had a feeling that they had all the time in the world to harp on each other’s habits. “Anytime,” she murmured before letting sleep take her.

 


	2. We Need to Buy You Winter Clothes/ Treatment for a Cold or Flu

 

**We Need to Buy You Winter Clothes/ Treatment for a Cold or Flu**

Joyce heard the coughing well into the night, and it set her usually anxious mind into a fever pitch of worst-case scenarios and dread.  She had hoped that things were going back to normal after the events of two months prior.

Will tried to hide it, disappearing in the middle of dinner, excusing himself to the bathroom. At first, Joyce thought her youngest boy might be experiencing the first pangs of puberty, and she felt embarrassed but sympathetic. She hoped he would be able to find someone to talk to, a friend, anything to spare her the awkward conversation that she had with Jonathan when he had been Will’s age.

But the coughing. Will _had_ to see a doctor. No small feat, considering that she had not seen a dime from Lonnie for ages, and Joyce had just gone through a small fortune trying to make her boys’ Christmas a memorable one. They would have to manage. She would have to make it work, as she had always done.

“We need to buy you winter clothing,” Joyce remarked one morning, as her youngest boy was about to head out the car to wait for her to take him to school. In the madness of his disappearance, his “death”, his reappearance and now his sickness, Joyce realized that he was still wearing last year’s outerwear – his coat sleeves stopped about a half inch above his pale, scrawny wrists.

“Okay, Mom.”

She had an impulsive idea. “I’ll call you in sick today. I don’t have to work until later. We can make an adventure out of it – how does that sound?”

His dark eyes, so much like her own, brightened considerably at the prospect. “Really?”

“Really.”

Later, when they were roaming the aisles of Hawkins’ Department Store, Will was hit with another one of his coughing fits. This time, he did not have time to excuse himself as he bent over, hand grasping at a metal shelf to steady himself. His face went white with panic, as did Joyce’s as she watched helplessly.

“Will, baby, are you alright?” Joyce brought a hand to cover her horrified mouth and lifted the other one to touch her youngest child’s heaving shoulders.

“Joyce? Will?” Joyce spun around and nearly burst into tears at the sight of Jim Hopper. Always at the right place at the right time, she thought as he ran to her son’s aid.

“Is he choking?” he inquired, patting the boy’s back, hard.

Joyce shook her head, and rubbed a tear away from the corner of her eye. “I was going to make a doctor’s appointment later today. He’s been like this –“

A strangled, wet sound erupted from Will’s throat, and Joyce thought that he may throw up. “Sweetie?” her voice was small as she stepped forward. Will’s next sound was a sort of gargle, as though something was coming up from inside of him. Something black and slimy fell from her boy’s mouth and landed with an audible ‘plop’ onto the linoleum. Jim put an arm in front of Joyce’s chest to stop her from coming any closer to the boy, and when she looked up, she saw real fear in his shining blue eyes.

* * *

 

Joyce woke up with her head feeling like it was stuffed with cotton and lead, her nose swollen with pent up snot, and her body aching like one long bruise. She groaned, knowing that she was overdue (her throat had a tell-tale tickle for days) , but still dreading the days ahead. She looked at the alarm clock on her nightstand, and saw that she had slept through her wake-up call by a good half hour. Thank goodness it was Christmas vacation, and the boys did not need to be anywhere. She, however…

Joyce shuffled into the kitchen, opened the overhead cabinet near the refrigerator, and pulled out a royal blue cookie tin with a masking tape label that read: Break Glass in Case of Emergency. She pried open the lid, and pulled out a head of garlic, and a tea bag that gave off a stale, peppermint scent.

Kettle on, cup prepared, clove selected and shucked, Joyce sat at the dining room table and popped the clove in her mouth, which became fire upon the first hesitant crunch of her teeth. A sickened groan escaped her lips as she chewed and chewed, closing her eyes to ignore the heat climbing up her chest and throat. After thirty seconds, she ran to the kitchen garbage, flung it open, and released the foulness from her mouth, spitting with vehemence. She felt slightly better after gargling a tall glass of ice water, but she knew the heart burn was going to linger for the day.

After tea, Joyce prepared herself for her shift at the grocery store, leaving the house before her sons woke up for the day. It was a slow day, considering the holidays were approaching. The Hawkins area was also in the middle of a brutal cold snap, which explained why people were choosing to stay inside. Joyce’s register was located near the front doors, so every time a straggler entered, she got a gust of frigid air that did not help her already painfully cold frame.

           Joyce was in the process of hooking her thumbs into her sleeves to pull the thin material of her blouse over her icy hands, when Jim Hopper entered the store. An involuntary shiver slithered through Joyce’s body, followed by a wracking cough that she felt in her ribs. When she recovered from the fit, she smiled at the concerned Chief of Police and waved. “Welcome,” she rasped.

           Jim gave her no response as he scrutinized her; taking in her red nose and flushed cheeks, both of which stood in stark contrast to the rest of her pale, drained face. His strong features darkened when she shivered again. Finally, he spoke: “You need to go home.”

           Joyce rolled her eyes at this. “That’s really not an option,” she sniffled, covering her mouth to muffle another cough. “If you need to find anything in particular, just ask.”

           “I need to speak to your manager.”

           “Has Donald been stealing purses and spray painting the school again?” Joyce joked. The side of Jim’s mouth twitched a bit, as though he wanted to smile, but suppressed it in order to maintain his dour policeman stare. “He’s stocking liquor,” she explained with a sigh.

           Joyce went back to the business at hand, ringing up customers and making polite small talk. She felt a little dizzy and a lot achy – it was becoming increasingly difficult for her to allow a smile to reach her eyes, even when Karen and Holly Wheeler came through her line. Joyce’s boys plus two more of Mike’s little friends had shown up later that morning, so Karen was picking up snacks.

Joyce was about to thank the woman for allowing her boys to visit, when Donald stepped behind her register, a concerned look in his eyes. “Chief Hopper needs to see you,” he whispered, trying to keep the news secret from Karen, who heard anyway and smirked.

           Joyce heaved another sigh. “About what, Donald?” she inquired in a normal speaking voice.

           The older man blanched and stammered, eyes flitting between Karen and Joyce. “Well… I imagine it has to do with William. He said that it would take the rest of the day, and that I ought to let you use a vacation day on it. I told him we didn’t have vacation days here but he… well, turns out we do for today. See you tomorrow, Joyce.” The man waved towards the door where Jim stood, hands on his hips, expectant look on his face.

           “Throw the book at her, Chief,” Karen teased as she pushed her cart past Jim.

           Joyce grabbed her purse, threw on her coat, and followed Jim out of the store. “What the hell, Hop? I thought we finished all of Will’s paperwork last week.”

           “Zip up, it’s freezing out here… where is your hat and gloves?” Jim demanded as he stalked to his blazer.

           “You are _not_ my dad – do I really have to get in there?” Jim had the passenger side door to his blazer open, waving one large hand towards the seat as though to hurry Joyce’s movements.

           “How is it going to look if I tell your boss that I need to see you on police business, but you get in your own car?”

           “You assume that if I had a choice I wouldn’t go back inside and finish my shift.”

           “Get. In.” Jim ground out. Joyce was one parts infuriated and two parts turned on by his flash of quietly menacing authority. She got in.

The luxury of sitting in a vehicle with the heat blasting was almost too much for Joyce’s worn out body and mind, and she nearly nodded off. “Wait… What were you going to get from the store?” She asked as Jim pulled out of the parking lot.

“Flo is out with the flu, and the department needed coffee and paper towels. I’ll go back later.”

He drove on in silence, and Joyce noticed that they were heading in the direction of her house. “I really don’t need you to rescue me from working sick.”

“You were ready to collapse. I’m not going to just stand there and let you work yourself to death, Joyce.”

“Why do you even care?”

“I’m going to ignore that question, since it seems like a really dumb – not to mention hurtful - thing to ask after all we’ve been through.”

They arrived at the Byers’ household. Jim tried to help Joyce out of the passenger side, but she pushed his hand away. “I’m sick, not –“ She was cut off by a nasty fit of coughing that left her dizzy enough to sway dangerously to one side as she tried to get out of the vehicle. Jim’s arms closed around her, lifting her with ease. She groaned, partly from the pain in her head, but mostly because Jim Hopper carrying over the threshold of her home was not how she expected her day to pan out.

           Jim gently set her on the couch, and pulled the blankets from the back of it to cover her. “Where do you keep your medicine?” he asked.

           “In the cabinet behind the bathroom mirror, like normal people.” Jim would find it sparse, Joyce knew. Most of the medicine had been used on Will during his strange recovery. The boy still coughed at night, which disturbed her. There seemed to be no end to her worries. She let her eyes close, sleepiness enhanced by the feel of the warm quilt and the slightly chilly room.

           When Joyce opened her eyes, there was a bowl of chicken noodle soup steaming before her on the coffee table and a note:

_I had to go back to work. Eat the soup, and take the aspirin next to the bowl. It was all I could find. I will bring some orange juice and stuff for that cold later. Pay me back with a twelve pack of Schlitz. – Hop_

           The soup was hot along the edges but ice cold in the middle. Joyce, however, felt sufficiently warmed by the gesture, even though she planned on laying into him about it later. He really did not need to be bossing her around like that.


	3. Department Store Santa/Four Trees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adding chapters from my 2017 holiday prompts. Check out my tumblr @starmaammke for more Jopper trash!

 

**Department Store Santa**

 

“Well, thank you Florence, I certainly appreciate you looking into this for me.”

 

“Oh, you can stop looking for Santa’s full-stop, Donald. He’ll do it for sure if I ask him.”

 

Joyce raised her eyes from her novel in order to observe the scene unfolding in Houseware. Donald Melvald, her boss, was deep in conversation with Police Department Flo (Joyce thought maybe her last name was Hangartner?), the pair standing awfully close as they spoke--their proximity, plus Donald’s use of Flo’s proper name, gave a lot of credence to the rumor floating around that the two were seeing each other socially; not that Joyce cared or had anyone to really feed that tidbit to, but it did make a compelling case-- Joyce was more curious about the topic of their conversation. Why was Donald hiring a Santa like they were a mall in South Bend, and who was he trying to get from the police station to take the role?

 

There really was only one candidate, and Joyce was currently waiting on him to bring her lunch. She suppressed a snort, and smiled when Flo passed her register on the way out the front door. Donald was close behind, stopping in front of the register to wave through the glass door at Flo as she entered her car.

 

“We’re hiring a Santa? Why?”

 

Donald cleared his throat. “People keep doing their shopping at those big box stores and malls now, and business hasn’t been great. I mean, it’s late November and you have time to read, for heaven’s sake. Santas bring in business, Joyce.”

 

Joyce shrugged and went back to her book.

 

“You’d sure make a cute elf. You’re tiny and the chief is so… not tiny. It would make good contrast.”

 

Joyce set her book down and shot Donald a wide-eyed look of astonishment. “What? No.”

 

“I or Gilda could work the register while you did that for a few hours.”

 

“No.”

 

“I’d increase your Christmas bonus by 15% and throw in a vacation day for the New Year.”

 

___________

 

“Ugggh, I hate this,” Jim Hopper muttered under his breath as Joyce dabbed at the front of his suit with a wet napkin, trying to erase the evidence of the colicky baby boy he’d just been holding. “That wasn’t a baby, that was a milk mule.”

 

“Hush, Santa, little ears are listening,” Joyce scolded softly. He sniffed when the puffball on the top of her green, pointed hat brushed against his nose.

 

“Say, you wouldn’t like to sit on Santa’s lap, would you?” he asked when she pulled away in time to catch him leering at her. She didn’t know what exactly he was seeing that was so appealing--she felt perfectly ridiculous in her short, green romper overalls, white long-sleeved shirt, and white and red tights… not to mention the ridiculous pointy shoes along with the pointy ears, and the painted on rosey-cheeks with freckles. She shushed him, even though actual color was rising to her cheeks, and walked over to the barrier between Candy Cane Lane and his big red throne in order to remove the ‘Closed for Maintenance’ sign. The queue immediately filled up once more. 

 

The rest of the day ran smoothly, until a little blonde girl of about six years perched herself on Jim’s knee and scrutinized him. She had been standing in line for some time, peering at Jim and Joyce through large, coke-bottle glasses that made her hazel eyes seem owlish, and preternaturally wise. During one quiet moment between kids, they both agreed that the girl was one ‘creepy-ass kid’ (Hop’s words).

 

“Your beard is too small,” the girl observed, tugging at Jim’s very real, not-that-unimpressive beard. She wrinkled her nose when she pulled her hand back and spotted a streak of white on her palm. “And painted.”

 

“What’s your name, little girl?” Santa Jim asked, affecting a cheerful Claus-ian boom in his tone. 

 

“Samantha Bauman.”

 

Joyce coughed at Jim’s side. They only knew of one Bauman and…

 

“Where’s your mom and dad, young lady?”

 

“My mom is in Atlantic City with my first grade teacher--my dad’s at Radio Shack. He’s got custody this month. We’re travelling.”

 

“Uh-huh, and what do you want for Christmas?”

 

“What’s the deal with you and the elf?”

 

“Excuse me?” Joyce squeaked from her station. She exchanged a bewildered look with Jim.

 

“Does Mrs. Claus know this is going on?” Samantha inquired in a flat tone, pointing between Joyce and Santa Jim. 

 

“What do you want for Christmas, little girl?” Santa Jim sounded a lot like regular, old Annoyed as Hell Jim. 

 

“I suppose you’re on the road a lot, so these things happen--but my dad was really upset when my mom left, so you two should really think before breaking up a whole family.”

 

“I’m divorced!” Jim snapped, drawing gasps from the crowd. Samantha, to her credit, appeared unfazed. “I mean… things didn’t work out with Mrs. Claus, and yes, I do have a crush on…” Jim trailed off and looked over at Joyce to check her name tag “Mit...zi… she’s sweet and supportive, and Santa can be himself around her. Also, she’s very cute.”

 

Joyce felt another blush rise to her cheeks. “And Mitzi really likes Santa too. In fact, she’s not sure how she was able to get through the last few years without him always believing in her.” she smiled when Jim’s cheeks grew red, his eyes shining behind his fake spectacles. 

 

“Oh, well that’s okay then,” Samantha observed. “I want a Barbie Dream House.”

* * *

 

**Four Trees**

 

“I like this one too…  _ Dad _ .” Jane Hopper tried out the word again, trying desperately to make it sounds less awkward on her lips--it was the same with the name  _ Jane.  _ It took so much getting used too. Her first day of school, her homeroom teacher had to call her it no less than four times before she stopped staring at the birds in the tree near the window next to her desk. 

 

Jim Hopper narrowed his eyes at the sad little fir on the edge of the tree lot. “It looks sick, like the last two that you liked.” He pointed towards the majestic, full tree that stood adjacent to it. “Wouldn’t this one look great in the new house?”

 

Jane wrinkled her nose. “I’m sure someone will love it--but who will love this one? It’s just going to die in the lot, sad and abandoned. It makes me feel desolate.” she was proud of her new vocabulary, and liked to show it off whenever possible. ‘Desolate’ was such a romantically unhappy word, and it suited her feelings towards the droopy little tree. 

 

“Kid, you really are the Charlie Browniest sometimes.”

 

__________

 

Joyce Byers and her two boys stepped into the new Hopper residence, their arms laden with gifts and grocery bags, their cheeks pink from the cold. 

 

“Merry Christmas!” Joyce greeted warmly, accepting a quick but tender kiss on the lips from Jim as he took the bags and presents from her arms. Jane threw herself at Joyce, wrapping her thin arms tightly around the brunette. 

 

“Merry Christmas!” Jane echoed, before bestowing a quick hug to Jonathan, and a long one to Will--the two had become fast and dear friends, much to the relief of Joyce and Jim, who were in early talks of moving the Byers into the Hopper household once Jonathan graduated and left for NYU. 

 

Joyce took a quick look around the living room, and her expression immediately went from joyous to amusedly perplexed. “Oh my…”

 

“It’s very Christmasy in here,” Jonathan observed with a smirk. 

 

Will was taking a slow turn around the room, counting on his fingers with wide eyes. In one corner was the sad little fir, now made more impressive by lights and tinsel; in the other corner was a similar tree, patchy and brownish, but festooned in gold and red. There was also a small tree on the coffee table, and one adjacent to the television set--more impressive than the others, but sparsely decorated. Joyce imagined it was because the ornament supply had been stretched thin to accommodate sprucing up the more unfortunate greenery. She shot Jim a wide-eyed look, and he pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes tight in response.

 

“Yes. I have four trees. Don’t judge me.”


	4. Two Parties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These are based on 2017 Winter Prompts on my @starmaammke tumblr account from here on out! Follow me on there if you are so inclined.

**Hawkins, Indiana**

 

**1958**

 

“Jesus, I remember that fabric. That’s the dress my mom just donated to Salvation Army with renovations,” Chrissy Carpenter sniffed to Karen Dawson as they congregated around with punch bowl with their respective dates, plus Jim Hopper. “Awful brave of her to come here alone, isn’t it, honey?” Her question was directed at her date, Lonnie Byers, who was staring across the room at Joyce with narrowed and curious eyes. 

 

“Shut up,” he growled in response, plucking a flask from the pocket of his suit coat and taking a long pull. 

 

Jim rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his broad chest. Joyce came alone out to make a statement to Lonnie and Chrissy that she didn’t give a flying fuck about their relationship status. Jim had offered to take her himself, not wanting her to walk through the fire alone--she had snorted at him and informed him that she didn’t need a man to be brave. He hadn’t known how to tell her that he wanted to take her because he wanted to take her, not because he felt bad for her. It had been a rough three months, being Lonnie’s friend, Joyce’s best friend, and wanting her so badly it ached deep and keenly in his heart and gut. 

 

“It looks good on her, but not as good as your mom looked with it balled up in the corner of my bedroom,” Jim sneered, grabbing Lonnie’s flask and drinking from it before throwing it on the floor and walking in the direction of the tiny Cinderella standing in the entrance of the school gymnasium. 

 

Joyce Horowitz looked absolutely stunning, in Miriam Carpenter’s reworked crimson evening gown. Joyce, always clever with the needle, had changed the bateau neckline to a deep sweetheart, shortened the skirt, and tailored the bodice so it fit her tiny waist like a glove, cinching it with a wide satin belt. She had used the remaining fabric to make a small clutch purse, which she was currently twisting between her black-gloved hands. Jim only knew all of this because he had watched her work her magic on the second-hand sewing machine he had dragged down from his parents’ attic and repaired for her as a Christmas present. He smiled to himself when he recalled the way her face lit up when she read the little card attached to the gift: 

_ An Investment to the House of Joy.  _

_ Love, Hop _

 

“I didn’t want to name your fashion empire for you. I know you were still mulling it over--” he had explained before she cut him off with a kiss to the cheek.

 

“No, it’s perfect. It’s going to look beautiful above my store in Paris. Very chic.”

 

Now, seeing upon seeing the finished product that was her Snowball gown, Jim had full confidence that she would achieve her dreams and more. She blushed prettily as he approached, looking him up and down with a quirked eyebrow and a little half-smile.

 

“James Andrew Hopper, you sure do clean up nice,” she complimented before accepting a tight side-hug from him. Her hair smelled sweet and fragrant, like lilies of the valley as he kissed the top of her stylishly coiffed head. 

 

“You’re a sight for sore eyes. So… looks like we’re the only ones without dates.”

 

“I guess so--is Lonnie glaring daggers at us?”

 

Jim frowned and pulled away. Lonnie always seemed to be ruining their little moments. Still, he looked over his shoulder to confirm her suspicion. “Yeah.”

 

Joyce shrugged and took Jim by the elbow. “Fuck ‘em. Let’s go dance.”

 

Jim realized that is was probably a show to get Lonnie steamed, but there was the small part of him that recalled her not wanting a date, because she didn’t need anyone to be brave, and didn’t want to resort to childish tricks just to get her ex-boyfriend’s goat. When he noticed how soft her eyes were when she smiled up at him, he decided to hold on to the latter. He slid one hand onto the small of her back and guided her to the dance floor.

* * *

 

**New York City**

**1990**

The cheering throughout the hallway of the hotel did not wake Jim Hopper up, but he jerked awake when the phone on the nightstand near his side of the bed gave out a shrill ring. Joyce was not at his side, in fact, he didn’t even think she was in the neighborhood of the hotel at all -- she and Karen were out on the town with Nancy and five of her six bridesmaids. The sixth bridesmaid was in the adjacent hotel room with her boyfriend, both still sleeping off an exhaustion that only finals week could bring. The digital clock read 12:10. Jim Hopper was in bed by 12:10 on New Year’s. He really  _ was _ getting old.

Anyway, a phone ringing in the middle of the night, when Joyce was out doing god-knows-what was  _ definitely _ cause for concern. Jim was alert and wary when he picked up and greeted the person on the other line. 

“Joyce… Joyce I can’t hear you, where are you? ...P-p-whattium?”

_ PALLADIUM! It’s horrible and I feel old and Karen won’t stop taking shots and hitting on teenagers, and I think Madonna or Cyndi Lauper are here, but I’m not sure. I don’t know who Downtown Julie Brown is, Hop --I’ve had a lot to drink! _

Jim pinched the bridge of his nose. Joyce was usually more relaxed when she drank, but he could tell by the pitch and tone of her voice that she was clearly in the middle of a panic attack. He was tired, and irritated, but he knew coming off as such wouldn’t help anyone. He tried to access his long-forgotten mental map of this city.

“Tell me where it is again?”

_ East 14th. By Irving and Third. _

Jim cringed. Great. “Okay, baby. Where are Karen and the girls?”

_ Dancing. Karen gave me cab fare and told me to go back to the hotel if I wasn’t having fun, and Nancy gave me a subway token, but I’ve never-- I don’t-- _

“Stay there. If you are feeling overwhelmed, go outside and stand near the bouncer until I see you. I’m taking the rental car and I’m coming for you, okay?”

_ Will Bobby be okay? _

“I think Jonathan is up reading. I’ll go ask if he wants to watch the boy.”

_ You don’t have to do this. It’ll take forever, because it’s New Year’s and everything is crowded in this godforsaken city!. _

“Just sit tight. Get a hot toddy or something soothing from the bar, drink that, come outside and wait. I will be there, I promise.”

_______

In the end, it hadn’t taken long at all. Being a former NYPD detective had its advantages, even though it had been years upon years since the last time he had to figure the quickest way from Point A to Point B. As planned, Joyce was bundled up and standing near the bouncer, who seemed mildly amused at the close presence of the tiny brunette. 

Jim honked the horn at Joyce, and then rolled down his window and shouted her name when he realized that a lot of cars were doing the exact same thing. From the way she stumbled towards the car, he could tell she had just a little bit too much to drink; then again, neither of them were doing much drinking nowadays, so it didn’t take much to make her silly. 

“Oh, thank god!” she cried, throwing the door open and settling into the passenger’s seat. Her makeup was a bit heavier than usual, all smokey eyes, red lips, and slightly teased hair - she looked fantastic for 35 and she was pushing 50. Jim felt old as Methusaleh next to her, with his ever-whitening beard and the lines that just kept popping up on his forehead and around his mouth -- there were a great many things he could say in praise of his wife that weren’t related to her beauty, but he did find himself still marvelling over how someone so timeless and breathtaking would want anything to do with his sloppy, old self. 

“Was it really that bad?” he asked, already knowing the answer. Joyce had been beside herself with anxiety over the thought of venturing into the city on New Year’s Eve. She was a small-town girl, a lover of nature and quiet, she wanted nothing to do with ‘clubbing’ as Nancy had so cheerfully termed it when she announced the plans for her bachelorette party. Joyce just tilted her head back and sighed heavily in response.

“How is the baby?” she asked. That was another thing, she was very reluctant to spend nights away from Bobby, who was nearly four. 

“Not a baby, Joyce -- but he’s doing just fine. Him and Jane and the boys nearly stayed up long enough to watch the ball drop, but they’re all sleepy introverts like their mama. He was asleep the whole time I carried him to Jonathan and Nancy’s suite, and Jonathan stayed up long enough to tuck him in.” 

Joyce sighed and then gave a start when Jim slammed his fist on the car horn after getting cut off. “I do not miss this fucking traffic. Jonathan and Nancy can have their big city lifestyle, I miss Hawkins.”

“I miss it too, but I really like our bathroom at the hotel.”

Jim grinned as traffic began to move. “Oh yeah?” he felt a blush creep to his cheeks as he thought about the whirlpool tub. It was certainly big enough to allow them to try things they wouldn’t dare at home.

“Yeah,” Joyce yawned. “You wanna get on that when we get home?”

“It’s expensive, sweetheart… but for you, anything.” He reached out to give her knee an affectionate squeeze. “Did you cut a rug on the dance floor tonight?”

She snorted in response. “No one but us Olds call it that anymore, Hop -- and I can’t dance to that music. It’s so… jarring.”

Jim laughed at her disdainful response. She was always so reluctant to say anything that soundly remotely condescending to the youth of the day that it was surprising to hear her admit her distaste so freely.

“No like our Little Richard, eh?”

“Nothing like him… but I think he was at the club tonight. There were a lot of people who looked like people.”

“You get used to it in a city like this. I used to get sandwiches from the same place as Richard Dreyfuss.”

“You did not!”

“Did so.”

Joyce shrugged. “Well, la-di-dah. I got a letter back from Danny Kaye once, so there.”

Jim shot her a grin. “Your majesty.”

She was asleep by the time they got back to the hotel, and Jim ended up carrying her through the doors and onto the elevator. She weighed so little that it was like hefting a bag of feathers -- she smelled a lot nicer than a bag of feathers, though. He caught whiffs of her delicate perfume as she nuzzled against his chest, and not for the first time, he felt like the luckiest man alive. 


	5. Ice/Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two more Winter prompts from my tumblr (@starmaammke).

**Ice**

“How long do I have to sit out here? Why does everybody else get a little shack?” Joyce Byers pouted as she sat at a little stool on the frozen lake, a fishing rod dangling loosely from one hand as the line extended through a little hole in the ice.

“Shanties are for the weak. This is character building, Joycie.” Jim informed her, stepping forward to guide her free hand and close it over the rod. “Two hands. If you get a bite, you’ll lose the whole pole.”

Joyce snickered, her nose wrinkling adorably. “Oh, grow up, Horowitz,” he grumbled, settling into his own stool and lighting a cigarette.

“Don’t let Jane catch you doing that,” Joyce warned with a little shiver.

“God hates tattletales.”

“I don’t think Pastor Charles ever put that in his sermon.”

“Like you would know. You haven’t been to church since before you started shacking up with me.”

Joyce sighed and hunched her shoulders. “I wouldn’t mind a shack.”

“Too damn bad–screw your courage to the sticking place and suck it up, buttercup.”

“I’ll never understand why Shakespeare cut that part out.”

“Smartass.”

“Masochist.” Joyce let out a little whine. “Oooh, I can’t feel my legs, Hopper!”

“Would you just–”

“Oh my God!” Joyce shot to her feet, gripping the fishing pole as the line went tense. She began to frantically reel in the line.

“Sit back down and give it some slack before you break the line!” Jim urged, jumping from his seat to stand at her side–he place a hand on her shoulder to gently push her back into her seat. Joyce sat and did as she was told, though her hands were shaking with anticipation. She tried to give the pole to Jim, but he refused.

“No, baby, this is your moment.”

“It’s my first fish!”

“It will be if you’d just give the line a little more slack and stop panicking.”

In the end, Joyce did manage to reel it in. It wasn’t a very impressive fish–a little smaller and Jim would’ve thrown it back–but upon noticing the glow in her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes, he decided to behave as though it was the catch of the day, and he kissed her soundly for her efforts.

 

**Fire**

****

“Really, Hop?” Joyce Hopper groaned as she looked up at the bit of greenery hanging from the center of the canopy above her head. She was lying on her back on the ridiculously large four-poster bed in their honeymoon cabin on Lake George. She rolled onto her side, propping herself up on one elbow as she regarded Jim with a quirked eyebrow.

“Jesus, you’re a picture,” he flattered as he eyed up her messy hair, hunter-green negligee and black sheer peignoir, his eyes lingering on the generous bit of cleavage the low neckline revealed. He wasn’t too bad to look at either, Joyce mused as she drank in his half-dressed state; he was bare-chested and wearing blue cotton sleep pants that she knew he was going to shed any moment, judging by the prominent evidence of his appreciation.

“Why is there mistletoe above our bed?” Joyce inquired lightly, as though she didn’t know the answer.

Jim blushed scarlet as he chuckled and shrugged. “Well, I know that people usually kiss under the mistletoe, but I had other things planned.” his blue eyes reflected the orange-red flames burning in the fireplace–it would’ve made him look dangerous if his grin wasn’t quite so dopey. Joyce rested onto her back and bent her knees, parting them ever-so-slightly.

“Oh, I imagine there’ll still be a great deal of kissing,” she purred, before closing her eyes and biting her lower lip to keep from giggling as he crawled onto the bed and approached her. The mattress dipped under his weight as he gave a little growl and kissed the inside of one knee, sending shivers up and down her spine.


End file.
